The Golden Fleece Affair (From The Files Of Lady Dru Drummond Book 2)

by CW Hawes

  Necessity, The Mother Of Invention

  Kutaisi and the old church

  Night

  Thursday, 22 April 1954

  I fell asleep. When I woke, I checked my watch. The time was quarter past eight. Apparently we weren’t getting any supper. Dunyasha was awake. Branson was still asleep.

  “They aren’t giving us any food?” I asked.

  “Apparently not, Little Kitten,” she said and I could hear her reasonably well.

  I sighed. Definitely we’d gone from the frying pan to the fire.

  “Did you sleep at all?” I asked.

  “A little.”

  I went to where she was sitting. I kissed her cheek, sat next to her, and held her hand.

  “Do you think this is it? We’re going to die?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Dru. Things aren’t looking very good, are they?”

  “No, they aren’t. I wish I knew what they told Karl.”

  “That’s easy. If Karl gives up his pursuit of the fleece, we live. If not, we die.”

  “And we might die anyway.”

  She sighed. “Yes. We might die anyway.”

  “At least we’re together.”

  “Yes. We’re together.” She took my face in her hands and kissed me on the lips, hard and passionate. Then she said, “In case we die.”

  I just nodded.

  There we sat, leaning against each other. The minutes went by and finally Branson woke up. He looked around the room. He looked at us.

  “God,” he said, “I feel as bad as you two look.”

  Dunyasha replied, “You have such a way with women, Branson.”

  He shrugged. “It works often enough.”

  “It does at that,” she said.

  “Our escape turned into a pig’s ear,” Branson said. “Might have made it if it weren’t for that soldier pulling the trigger on his machine gun.”

  “That is why they’re called escape attempts. They’re all long shots,” Dunyasha said.

  “That they are,” Branson said in agreement.

  “You still have your shoelaces, Branson,” I said. “Any ideas how we might use them to make our escape?”

  He laughed. “I’m working on it.”

  “Not too hard,” Dunyasha said.

  “Hey, lady, give me a break. I just woke up.”

  “I thought you worked on these things even when comatose.” Dunyasha wasn’t giving up. Things were definitely over between those two.

  Branson just closed his eyes. Apparently he wasn’t going to get sucked in. Can’t blame him. What was the use?

  The three of us were in a dark corner. Nothing could dispute that. But we were still alive. We could either give up or we could keep fighting. The choice was ours. There were no restraints on Neratoff and he was a killer. We were annoyances and he eliminated annoyances. We either died trying to escape or we died cowering like beaten dogs. For myself, I wasn’t a dog. I was a human being and I was going to die like one, if in fact I was going to die. Mr Hall was counting on us. Karl was probably moving heaven and earth to rescue us. I wasn’t going to fail either one. Nor was I going to fail the two friends with whom I was sharing the hot water.

  “We’re not alone,” I said. “Karl’s out there. He’s not going to sit on his hands. And we have each other. We still have our minds. The more time that slips by, the weaker we get. So we need to move now, hoping Karl and the rest of our group are on their way.”

  Branson raised his eyebrows. “Okay, Dru, what do you propose?”

  “We have our bodies and this electrical cord and the loose dirt. We need to create a ruse to get the guards in here, incapacitate them, and make our escape.”

  “What kind of ruse?” Branson pressed.

  “Something to get them in here,” I replied.

  He nodded. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Dunyasha, remember when we were at the dacha?”

  A smile slowly began to spread across her face. “I think I see where you are going with this.”

  “Only we need to make sure they enter this cell. After our failed attempt, they might be a bit gun shy.”

  Dunyasha rolled her eyes.

  “So what do we do?” Branson asked.

  “You and Dunyasha get physical.”

  Dunyasha raised an eyebrow and Branson had a leer on his face.

  “As in you two are having a fight.”

  They laughed and the tension dissipated.

  I continued. “I pound on the door screaming bloody murder for help before you kill her. Hopefully, a guard will enter and we can subdue him and make our escape.”

  Dunyasha shrugged. “It’s worth a try, Dru. It worked the last time we tried it.”

  “You two did this before?” Branson asked.

  “Didn’t you believe me when I confirmed Dru was an escape artist?” Dunyasha said.

  “We are playing a variation on a theme,” I said.

  “Then let’s give it a go,” Branson said.

  The two of them got into their pretend fight and I started pounding on the door, screaming as loud as I could, in German, “Help! He’s going to kill her!”

  A few moments passed and I began to think maybe there was no guard or, worse yet, he didn’t care. Then I heard the key in the lock. The door opened. The guard was standing back, submachine gun pointed at me. He motioned for me to step back, which I did. Branson was on top of Dunyasha and for all the world looked like he was strangling her. The guard came into the room, raised his machine gun to wallop Branson with it, when Branson took a handful of dirt and flung it in his face.

  The soldier momentarily staggered back and lowered the machine gun, one hand going to his eyes. I grabbed the machine gun and pulled as hard as I could. The shoulder strap yanked him off balance and down he went. Branson was on him and got a choke hold set before the guard could respond. When the soldier passed out, Branson let go.

  No soldiers were waiting for us when we looked out into the big main room. We took from the fellow we’d duped, his submachine gun, ammunition, pistol, and knife. We left the room and locked him in.

  “Here we go,” Branson said, “take two.”

  We headed for the stairs. The stairwell was illuminated. We divvied up the weapons. Branson had the machine gun. I got the pistol and Dunyasha, the knife.

  “Lead the way, Dru,” Dunyasha said.

  “If we encounter trouble, drop to a crouch, Dru, so I can fire over you,” Branson said.

  “Gee thanks,” I replied. “I’m not feeling overly confident right now.”

  Dunyasha chuckled, “Our journalist suddenly wants to live forever.”

  Branson laughed.

  Dunyasha continued, “It’s simple, Dru, shoot first and do your interview after.”

  “Except dead men tell no tales,” I said.

  “They can’t lie either,” she replied.

  “One way to get an honest interview. If I’m leading, then let’s go.”

  Once again we climbed the stairs. At the landing we heard gunfire. The sound was faint, but it was definitely there. When we reached the ground floor, I heard it and broke out into a big grin. The high pitched whine and then an explosion which shook the stone building.

  “That was Ernest,” I said.

  The gunfire was quite loud. Some major fighting was going on. Then the rising whine and boom!

  We took a look into the dimly lit rear narthex. Ernest had blasted out the door and a space on either side of where the door had been. The gunfire was coming from outside.

  Dunyasha said, “It’s time we joined the party.”

  Two German soldiers came up from the opposite stairwell. Each one had a panzerfaust. Apparently they were going to try to take out Ernest with the anti-tank weapons. Ernest fired and the soldiers ran to where the rear door had been. I crouched and Branson fired the submachine gun. I don’t think they knew what hit them. Another blast from Ernest and the hole was now large enough to accomodate the robot.

 
I emerged from the doorway into the narthex, with Branson and Dunyasha right behind me. There was a deafening cacophony of rifle and machine gun fire and rising above it was the whine of the röntgenkanone and then silence.

  We rushed to the gaping hole in the wall. How the robot had done it, I didn’t know. Bodies littered the park. Apparently Ernest had changed the röntgenkanone beam to wide angle.

  I ran out a short distance from the building and yelled, “Karl! Sergeant! Kit! We’re alive!”

  From behind there was a gunshot and I heard my name. I turned, dropped to a crouch, and had the pistol thrust out in front of me. Both Dunyasha and Branson were on the ground. Then I saw him cautiously approaching my friends. I opened fire. The soldier jerked with the impact of the bullets and fell backwards, his rifle clattering on the stone floor. A spasm shook him and he was still.

  Branson was groaning. He’d been hit. I went to him. Dunyasha got up and retrieved the soldier’s rifle. Branson had taken a bullet in the back on his left side, just above the waist. He was bleeding quite profusely and I did my best to stanch the flow.

  I heard my name. I looked up. Karl and Kit Somers were running towards me.

  “Branson’s been hit,” I yelled.

  When they arrived, Kit took one look and said, “He needs a hospital.”

  Dunyasha asked, “Do they even have a hospital here?”

  “There has to be a doctor,” I said. “Malz would know.”

  “Right,” Kit said and took off at a run.

  Dunyasha was on the verge of tears. “And I was so mean to him at the end. I’ll never forgive myself if he doesn’t make it.”

  “He’ll make it,” Karl said. Although his words of confidence didn’t seem to carry a lot of conviction.

  Twenty-Seven

  A Bag of Gold

  Kutaisi, Georgia

  Friday, 23 April 1954

  The doctor said Branson was lucky. At least as far as bullet trajectory was concerned. It had passed through soft tissue and being jacketed had created a narrow wound channel. However, the stomach, kidneys, and pancreas may have been damaged. If Branson wasn’t bleeding internally, the doctor thought he would survive. We’d know in a day or two.

  Karl called a meeting of the Argonauts. He looked grim when he spoke. “In last night’s rescue of Mr Branson, Lady Hurley-Drummond, and Lady Bobrinsky, Mr Branson was badly wounded and we lost Corporal Hill and Private Ajax. The Germans suffered even worse casualties, thanks to Ernest. We may have even eliminated the Germans as a threat. I don’t want to be optimistic, however. We know Count Neratoff is here, which means a force of Czarist partisans may also be here. The Italians have made attempts to regain the fleece and have launched a major ground offensive. The Georgians, according to Chester Vanderhagen’s observations, have not been able to hold the Italians. The Soviets undoubtedly have agents here too, although only Doctor Franzen has encountered them.

  “Our numbers are dwindling and, with fewer numbers, our chances of obtaining the fleece also dwindle. As near as I can tell, our choices are strike soon or call off the mission. I want to know how each one of you feels about our options.”

  Klara spoke first, “I’m sorry, my lady, but I want to go home.”

  “It’s okay, Klara,” I replied. “I understand.”

  Doctor Rodman said, “I, too, want to go home. I’m sick of this hell.”

  Doctor Franzen said we should press on. “This is the find of the millennium. We can’t let it go.”

  Elise Rodman groaned, “Oh, Wilbur.”

  Mafeking Smith said, “And seeing what Ernest can do, if we act now while the enemy is in fear and disarray we are bound to capture the fleece and go home with the prize.”

  Dorman agreed with Mafeking.

  Sax said he was on a mission and had received no order the mission had been aborted.

  Peter Zholkov said he was an employee of Hall Media and his job was to help obtain the fleece and he would do so until told otherwise.

  Kit Somers said, “I’m here at the request of the US government. I will continue on the mission until told otherwise.” He turned to Klara, “I’m sorry, honey.”

  Dunyasha said, without hesitation, “I will follow Dru.”

  I looked at Karl.

  He said, “Go ahead, Dru.”

  “Five people have died and one is badly wounded. I don’t think the fleece is worth the cost that has so far been paid. Which may yet go higher. However, I said I’d go on this mission to get the fleece. We are very close. I think we should try to get it. If we can’t, then I think we go home.”

  “You have all spoken,” Karl said. “Mrs Somers and Doctor Rodman, you will stay here with Mr Branson and the office staff. The rest of us will try to get the fleece.” He looked at his watch. “I’m not sure daylight or darkness makes much difference at this point. Do you have an opinion, Sergeant Sax?”

  “Personally, I prefer an attack at dusk. Enough light to see and enough darkness to fuddle one’s sight. Hopefully, their sight.”

  “Very well,” Karl said, “we’ll wait until dusk.”

  ***

  While we waited for dusk, Dorman found some paint and painted Ernest black. “So he blends in better,” Dorman said.

  Sax and Milano went back to check out the church. The place looked abandoned, they said when they returned.

  The rest of us dozed, smoked, played cards, read, or just waited. Karl gave me back my handguns.

  “I’d like to keep your lock of hair, if I may,” he said. I touched his cheek and told him, of course.

  Karl divided us into two teams. The least experienced would be with Ernest and attack the front of the building. Those were Karl, Zholkov, Doctor Franzen, Dorman, and Mafeking. The rest of us, Sergeant Sax, Private Milano, Kit, Dunyasha, and I would storm the rear of the building.

  A half-hour after sunset we set out for the Provisional Government offices. Leiprecht and his troops had seemingly disappeared. I suppose I would, as well, after taking a beating by one of my own secret weapons. There was also no sign of Neratoff. That didn’t necessarily indicate they weren’t around. They might be and were just keeping themselves hidden. Which could spell big trouble for us. However, one can’t dwell on “what ifs”.

  Before we left, Malz said he had just gotten word the Georgian Liberation Army was in full retreat from the Italians in the west and from the Czarists, who have German support, in the east.

  Shortly after sunset, the two teams left Hall Media. The streets were fairly deserted; however, activity increased the nearer we got to the government buildings. The GLA looked to be preparing for what might well be their last stand. When we reached the block where the provisional government offices were located, we encountered sandbags and a machine gun. Sax and Milano opened fire with their Browning Automatic Rifles and kept the machine gun busy. Kit flanked the machine gun nest on one side and Dunyasha and I on the other. We could not see Kit and simply hoped he wasn’t in the extended line of fire. We were at about the eight o’clock position and opened fire with our submachine guns. Kit started shooting a split second after us. Within seconds it was over. The machine gun nest had been neutralized.

  We started moving down the street when a flare burst over head and the machine gun at the other end of the block opened fire. We took cover. Sax and Milano once again kept the machine gun occupied with their Brownings. Kit took off, making a circuit around the block to try to get behind them. Dunyasha and I crawled along the building fronts trying to get close enough to have an impact with our STEN guns or grenades. To use the latter, I’d have to get very close. I confess: I’m a girl and I throw like one. Dunyasha, on the other hand, throws better than most boys do.

  The flare burned out. We took advantage and sprinted as fast as a high crawl allowed. Another flare was shot skyward and we did our best to become one with the pavement. Our experiment was short lived. There was an explosion and the machine gun was silenced. We got up only to find ourselves facing soldiers coming out of
the back door of the building.

  Suddenly bullets were flying everywhere. There were two explosions. More grenades. Only we didn’t know who was throwing them. Dunyasha and I, bullets peppering the pavement and walls around us, dived behind an abandoned car for cover only to find someone else had gotten there first. Dunyasha didn’t wait. She pulled the trigger on her STEN gun. The soft pup-pup-pup made sure we kept on breathing.

  “How the hell are we going to get anywhere at this rate?” Dunyasha said.

  “I don’t know. It’s a nightmare.”

  The high-pitched whine cut through the din of battle, followed by an explosion. Ernest was at work.

  Dunyasha peered over the car’s boot. “Dru. Sax and Milano are being surrounded. Come on.”

  I came around the front of the car and she the back. Our machine guns were blazing. Due to the suppressors, they made little noise. Soldiers were dropping and the ones who weren’t seemingly had no idea where the gunfire was coming from. That is, until one of them saw us. He yelled and pointed and it was the last thing he did. The soldiers turned toward us and we fell back towards the car.

  “Do we know who we’re fighting?” I asked.

  “Yes. Somebody trying to kill us,” Dunyasha said.

  “I guess I overlooked the obvious.”

  “Shut up and shoot.”

  Sometimes Dunyasha can get a little bossy.

  We continued shooting and the soldiers began falling back. One tossed a grenade at us. It bounced off the automobile’s roof, hit the wall behind us, bounced back, and rolled underneath the car where it exploded. The motor absorbed the blast. Thank God.

  I looked up. An armoured car rounded the corner and headed our way.

  “Great,” Dunyasha said, “this is all we need.”

  The high-pitched whine and another explosion. The sky was bright.

  “The building’s on fire,” I said.

  A second armoured car came around the corner.

  “I think the president and the fleece are leaving,” Dunyasha said.